The Nirvana Plague (23 page)

“And what was that?”

“Change the world, one cup of coffee at a time. It’s not so bad, you know, measuring out your life with coffee spoons. If it’s the right kind of coffee.”

“Dr. Marley!” Benford said. “Carl! Wake up!”

He groaned. He was lying in a fetal position. He felt cold and sick. Every muscle in his body seemed to be cramping.

“Wake up, Carl!” she hissed again. “Don’t sleep too much.”

“Why not?” he growled.

Waking this time, he had no trouble remembering where he was. He uncurled himself carefully, sat up slowly, and looked around. Someone had taken his boots while he slept. The little alcove where they were was very dim. A little light filtered in from the main chamber. It was just enough to see they both looked like hell — filthy, bedraggled.

“Estrada?” he said.

“They’ve got him doctoring their wounded.”

Marley could hear two men keeping up a nonstop chatter outside the entrance of the alcove. Otherwise it was quiet; the party seemed to have burned out. But the air was still so thick with hashish and tobacco smoke it made his eyes water.

“Guards?” he said.

“Yes. Two of them — usually.”

“What time is it?”

“Took our watches. My guess is three or four.”

“In the morning?”

“Yes.”

He had a bitter taste in his mouth. “Anything to eat or drink?”

“Not yet.”

“Any news?”

“No.”

He heard footsteps approaching. Two silhouettes appeared in the opening of the chamber. It was Estrada, barefoot, with an escort.

“I’m all in,” Estrada said, dropping to his hands and knees.

“Who will be next?” the escort said.

It sounded like an invitation to a beating. It was the interpreter they’d met in the temple courtyard, the one who’d backhanded Estrada.

“Everyone is stable,” Estrada said. “Just need someone to keep an eye on things.”

“I’ll take a turn,” Marley said, getting up stiffly, willing himself not to groan.

Already getting drowsy, Estrada gave him a brief report: “About twenty-five walking wounded. Eleven non-ambulatory. Keep your eye on the chest case. Don’t know why the bastard isn’t dead already.”

“All right.”

“Send someone if you need help,” Benford said.

The interpreter led him out. The two guards were sitting on stools tilted back against the cavern wall, rifles across their knees. They stopped talking briefly while they watched the prisoner pass by. The alcove where they were being held seemed to be the deepest occupied part of the chamber. He wondered how much deeper the cavern went.

He glanced down through the ghost-green chamber. There was little movement. The sound of snoring crept through the heavy air.

The floor was slick under his bare feet.

“I need my boots back,” he said.

His escort waved him forward. “No.” He was a small man, with an intelligent and fiery look in his eye.

The area set aside for an infirmary was close by. It was just a wide place partitioned from the main chamber by an enormous fallen block. The wounded lay scattered about on low cots.

“Your name?” said the interpreter.

“Marley. What’s your name?”

He looked surprised. “My name?” But then he smiled. “I am Vikas.”

Vikas showed him around, pointing out the box where their medical supplies were. There wasn’t much. Plenty of morphine though, and a lot of small stuff — items that could be carried easily, syringes and scalpels and sponges.

“We take much from you today,” Vikas said, with a triumphant grin.

Marley went round the room and looked everyone over, trying not to wake them. The cots were so low, he had to squat or sit on the floor to look at them closely. More strip-lights had been strung up in the surgery than elsewhere, but the amber pallor of the low-energy ribbons still made it difficult to visually assess the patients. He checked on the chest case straightaway. Estrada had managed to rig up a makeshift drain. It seemed to be working well enough. Vikas produced a flashlight from the supply bin and held it on the incision so Marley could see better. Most of the patients were resting pretty comfortably, considering. There wasn’t much for Marley to do. He was glad of that.

“Everybody is OK?” Vikas said.

“Yes, they’re doing all right.”

“Good.”

“I could use a latrine.”

“Toilet?”

“Yes.”

“OK.”

Vikas led him out of the surgery and down the length of the big chamber. Sleeping men and women lay scattered about like driftwood. He stopped about midway, and pointed Marley into a side passage.

“You go back there.”

He gave him the flashlight.

Marley picked his way back into the dark passage, and found where a couple of pit toilets had been excavated, each covered with two planks — one for each foot. He planted his bare feet on the slick planks with extreme caution. He was so stiff and sore his legs trembled when he squatted.

He got the job done without falling in and came back out, and Vikas led him down to the little stream that meandered down the floor of the chamber.

“Wash there.”

“How about some soap?”

“No soap.”

“I need soap for the surgery.”

“No soap.”

Marley knelt down and bathed his hands in the cold water.

“Why so many doctors?” Vikas said.

“What?”

“Why you so many doctors in your camp? We just one doctor. He died before week —
last
week.”

“Sorry.”

“Why Americans have so many doctors?”

“I think they only had one before. The rest of us were just there investigating.”

“Investigating?” He chewed on the word for a second. “Investigating what?”

Marley stood, flinging the water off his hands. “I’m not allowed to discuss that.”

Vikas eyed him critically.

Marley shrugged. “Sorry.”

Vikas echoed his shrug. “You want to see the others?” he said.

“Others?”

“Come on.”

Vikas led him back up to the cave-in that blocked off the infirmary. Around the other side of it there was another chamber, separated from the main gallery. It was very dim, but felt warmer than other parts of the cave. And not so stale and rank. There was a light sweet fragrance in the air.

It was a large bowl-shaped room, and all around the uneven ledges of the sloping walls two dozen men and women sat quietly or lay sleeping on rough mats.

When Marley and Vikas came in, one woman stood and faced them. Half smiling, she looked at Marley, her gaze going through him like a pane of glass.

Gone
, Marley thought.

Vikas spoke behind him. “These are the holy ones,” he whispered, almost too quietly to hear.

Marley responded over his shoulder, still holding the woman’s distant gaze. “The what?”

“Holy ones,” Vikas said uncertainly. “My English not good. — You know? Like angels?”

“Angels?”

Vikas said something in his own language, then, “You know? Holy ones?”

“You mean like saints?”

“Yes!” Vikas said enthusiastically. “Saints!” He continued in a lower voice, wagging his head sadly: “These will not fight now. We have too many
saints
. No good for fighting. Who need saints in war? No good.”

“No, I don’t suppose so,” Marley said. He turned back to Vikas. “What are you going to do with them?”

Vikas frowned. “Wait for them to get better,” he said.

“Will they get better?”

Vikas shrugged and cast his eyes to heaven. “Maybe. God knows.”

“Have any of them got better yet?”

Vikas hesitated. “Maybe I say too much,” he said, and struck a defiant pose. “You don’t tell me anything too.”

The woman took a step closer.

“Ask her her name,” Marley said.

That surprised Vikas. “No no,” he said. “Don’t speak.”

“Just ask her how she is.”

“No!” he said. “Let’s go.”

At 0900 Vikas led Marley back to the detention area.

Different guards now occupied the stools outside the detention area. They looked hung over.

The camp was awake again and busy. Groups of men and women squatted around shallow bowls of gruel, throwing down hot tea, and mumbling softly to each other. The smell of food filled the air.

“Vikas, do you think we could get something to eat?”

“I will ask,” Vikas said. “Good bye, Dr. Marley.”

And he left him with the other prisoners in the darkness of the unlit alcove.

“Well, aren’t you two getting chummy,” Estrada said.

“Yes,” Marley said, feeling his way down to the floor. “It’s an old psychiatry trick. Treat people like human beings.”

“Yes, well, I think a human being slugged me back at the camp.”

Benford had been asleep, but woke the second Marley returned.

“Nice work,” she said.

“How’s that chest wound doing,
doctor
?” Estrada said.

“He’s still hanging in there.”

“Did you check the drain for patency?”

“Of course.”

“Who’s minding the store now?”

“No one. Vikas said he’s going to find his relief. Then they’ll come for one of us. Hopefully with some food.”

“Vikas is the interpreter?” Benford said.

“Yes,” Marley said.

“Sounds like you made some progress there.”

“Anything else going on?” Estrada said.

“Yes,” Marley said. He was trying to get comfortable. His backside ached from sitting on the box. “They have lots of IDDs.”

“They do?” Benford said.

“Yes. At least two dozen cases here in the cave. Many more elsewhere.”

“No shit?” Estrada said.

“Vikas told you all this?” Benford said skeptically.

“I saw them,” Marley said. “They’ve got them sequestered in a chamber beyond the surgery. They call them ‘saints.’ Or something like that in their own language. Something Vikas considered ‘saints’ to be a good translation for.”

“Saints?”

“Yes. He also tried ‘holy ones’ and ‘angels’. Bit of a different attitude than ‘bambies’ in the ‘zoo,’ eh?”

“Maybe he was just having you on,” Estrada said.

“I asked him why he called them that. He said because they’re like the old men in the caves that people go to see. The old wise men.”

“Yogis,” Benford said. “And he told you there were a lot more cases among their forces?”

“Yes,” Marley said. “I got the impression it’s a pretty big problem for them.”

Benford nodded thoughtfully. “That’s interesting.”

Marley stretched out on the mat beside her and closed his eyes. He felt his bones creaking, settling. “I guess that kills the neurological-agent theory,” he said, wearily.

“How much do they know about how it’s affecting our side?” Benford said.

“Well, they saw them in the temple.”

“Yes, but is that all they know?”

“I think they suspect.”

“Did you tell Vikas anything?”

“No. Not about that.”

“What
did
you tell him about?”

“Nothing important.”

“What unimportant things did you tell him?”

He was in no mood to be interrogated. “Oh, let’s see.… I miss my wife. He misses his. Ally and I have no children. He has three. There’s no mountains where I live. The mountains here are very beautiful. Americans have great equipment. The Kashmiris are very poor. War is hell. And so on. The usual stuff you talk to your kidnapper about, with an AK-47 on his lap.”

Benford put her colonel voice back on: “I just want to know what information you had to give to get all the information you got, Dr. Marley.”

“All right.”

“And you got a lot,” she said, more sympathetically. “Anything else?”

“No,” he said. He was getting sleepy. Then he remembered something and pulled himself awake again. “Yes,” he said. “I found out what they plan to do with us.”

“Shoot us?” Estrada said.

“No, they’d have done that already,” Benford said.

“They need docs,” Marley said. “They’re going to split us up and move us out to different units as medics.”